Symphony
by KatieK3Y172
Summary: In the middle of World War III and the rise of zombies, Rainier thought he would never take part in the action. He was sadly mistaken. Held hostage in the RED base, he must find a way out before things get out of hand. BLUSpyxREDScout MalexMale
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_One t__é two té THREE..._

It was all bad.

With a strangled cry of frustration and a quick flex of a twitching hand, the freshly inked sheet music was converted into a crumpled mess.

_The plug._

The man stood from his abused chair and shuffled to the balcony window to do what he knew best for these kind of situations. The kind of situations where the word 'failure' personified his work. If that's what he wanted to call it. His 'work'. The small time solos that fell into the hands of monstrous publishing companies. The work he knew that would be played by children just clutching their instruments for their first time. He struggled with these thoughts because he imagined his work blossoming into something much more, something he would be renowned for.

He needed to do the 'thing', and badly.

He shoved one shaky hand into the creased front pocket of his gentleman's shirt. Withdrawing a cigarette from it's carton, he stuck the bitter filter in his lips and fumbled around his pants pockets for his lighter. Where the hell was it?

"You know that will kill you."

He spun on his heels, surprised to find his mother standing shakily in his hallway. Her white-knuckled fists were chipping more paint off the old door-frame and her face was much paler than normal. Where was the lavish blonde he knew his mother to be? The boisterous woman who used to take him on her expensive shopping trips in her expensive car at only the most expensive shops that were offered in all of France. Why was she here in his dingy little country home?

He stared open mouthed for a moment, almost letting the prize fall. With a quick pinch of his lips, he saved his cigarette and gave the most charming smile he could afford without actually losing it this time.

"Why, mother!" He made a grand sweeping gesture with his arms, "What brings you to my humble cottage way out here?"

His mother puckered her lips and tilted her head slightly to the right.

Not a good sign.

"It's your father."

* * *

I just wanted to give credit to McKenzieDon'tEatThat for helping me with the thought process. I really appreciate it, and it got me to really think deeply about just where this story is going. Thank you.

I also changed the description. This is because I thought people would be more interested if they knew Rainier was going to have to deal with being captured. I was right though, huh?

Original description: World War III and the world is divided by the question of nuclear energy consumption and blackmail. Everyone turns a blind eye to the consequential zombie problem, but sometimes problems can become the answers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He could not understand how something so horrible as death could happen to a man twice in such a short number of years, but he felt the familiarity of fear clutch his heart when he had driven to the summer estate his father had currently fallen ill in. Doctors had told the family that it was out of their control, that because of his father's line of work there was nothing they could do but put him in a comatose state to relieve the man of his impending misery.

And here he was now, sitting silently at his father's bedside in his parent's old bedroom. The thick color of the mahogany walls made the unconscious man look small, pale, and weak. The man he once knew to be tall and proud now croaked with each shaky breath he inhaled in his dreamless sleep.

Rainier slipped his own lanky hand under his father's, feeling his past. The hand that held him when he was so small, the doctors did not know if he would survive the night. The hand that steadied him when he got his first bicycle. The hand that shook his at his graduation. The hand that...

_The plug._

Rainier stood silently and left the room. The echos of his shoes louder than his father's loosely connected heart monitor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

No matter how hard he tried, Rainier could not come to terms with what he had witnessed in a forgotten room in an unnamed hospital that he couldn't quite pin a name to. Though he had long ago forgotten the smaller details, like the hospital's name, the room number, and even what he had been wearing, he remembered four distinct visions.

One.

His younger sister, only six at the time, stumbled down the large estate's grand marble staircase on a cold autumn night. He remembered turning around, horror struck, to hear the delicate cracking of his sister's bones as she tumbled all the way to the bottom. He could still see her crumpled form, sitting crookedly half on the last step, half on the polished floor. Father's loud booming voice bellowing from his study. Mother's heels clacking towards the scene. And there stood Rainier, helpless, at the bottom of the stairs looking horrified at his sister's body.

Two.

He could barely understand what his father was trying to tell him. They were in his sister's hospital room, Rainier sitting uncomfortably in the too big, hard-backed, adult chair as his father gripped his shoulder with a thick hand. The words were something about his sister, but he could not understand what his father's intentions were.

"Look, son... Your sister's spine is broken. She can't even breathe without these damned tubes in her! Son, I can't leave her like this. I need you to take the blame for what I'm about to do, but know in here," his father's large hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, "that what you will do for me is right for your sister."

Rainier stared curiously at his father. The tears he had never seen his father shed before, and will never see again, slipped soundlessly down the man's unshaven cheek.

Three.

His father made sure his mother had gone to get him a steaming cup of coal-black coffee when he lifted his son up on the bedside next to his comatose sister. He watched his father's hands lift away from his sides and slip shamefully down to the electrical socket at the right of his chair. He watched the big fingers clumsily fumble around the large gray plug occupying said electrical socket. With a short jerk of his hand, the plug left the wall.

The whirring of a single nameless machine sputtered and died, and with that he knew his sister was gone.

Four.

He was blamed.

"The darned kid was playing around with the side of the machines and accidentally stepped on the cord! He must have pulled it out with his foot!"

With the look of horror his mother had given him, he felt as though he was to blame for his sister's recent departure, yet he knew-

"_But know in here."_

That his father was a silent killer, ready to put his son on the line to spare himself prison.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"_Clllllllrr!"_

He didn't understand what he was hearing. It sounded so far off, that is was as if the other voice was in another country.

"_ClllEErr!"_

Maybe he meant to think 'another city'.

"_CLEAR!"_

A stab of lightning in his chest brought a strangled, frosty breath.

"Oh my God, he's breathing! The knuckle-head is _breathing_!"

Rainier was disappointed. He was in a soundless cocoon of warmth and familiarity and then the next moment he was thrust into a harsh world of pain and sound.

Oh God, the pain.

"Help me move him, we have to get him inside!"

"Anthony, are you crazy! Do you have any idea vhat Beau vill say about you bringing zhis... zhis SPY into our base?"

Hey now buddy, that spy had a name which happened to be... what was it? Who cares, because he was a human being just like these disembodied voices were.

He felt icy rubber slip around the trim of his mask and with a firm jerk, the rubber was gone.

"Don't remove the mask. Leave it till later, ya got it?"

Yeah, you tell 'em voice number one! Voice number two should'a known better, huh?

"He has been in zhe vater for a long time so-"

It was so hot. It was like a blazing inferno surged through his muscles and made his skin crawl with a heated itch. Something was seriously wrong since it was the middle of November and he knew the heated battle ground had been slick with ice and compact snow. Why was he so damned hot?

Yanking his arm towards the buttons of his suit, he painfully began slipping incoherent fingers around the first button.

"Woah, hey man, you can't be doin' that!"

He felt his hand being shoved back down to his side.

"We have to get him back before he strips and gets back in that freezing water like a moron!"

"I agree. You take hsss leeEggss..."

Oh God, it was back to the tunnel vision of sounds. He felt his mind slipping on the edge of consciousness when his legs were grabbed by strong arms.

That was the last of Rainier's memory as he was dragged through the ice and snow to the RED base.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

His father laid silently in his bed for a good month before Rainier knew that the man's heart was failing.

Rainier's mother stayed with his father for hours on end when the heavy news was brought to their attention. She would sit in the cozy armchair his father used to occupy when he was reading a good book on those warm summer nights so long ago. She was doing this now. Reading him his favorite old French novel that the man had read such a long time ago. She hoped the memories would ease his heart to a comfortable stop instead of a pain-filled one.

Rainier had moved into his old bedroom and had once again been pushing his old sheet music around in hopes of obtaining a brilliant epiphany about the classic language of music.

On this particular heated July night, he found himself in the parlor playing the piano. The old piano had belonged to his grandmother who had carefully preserved it through the hardships of World War II. The same piano he was now banging with furious fists. He could not, for the life of him, come up with his masterpiece. It lay silent in the back of his mind and no matter how desperately he probed for it, it remained in it's secluded spot.

"_Rainier!_"

It was his mother screaming frantically from his father's room.

He must have died.

Rainier sat silently on the piano bench, a round fist soon lazing into a spread palm. He did not wish to look at his father's corpse like he was forced to witness his sister's. He did not want to-

"_RAINIER!_"

That was more than just a shout for a death. That was a shout for a life; for help.

Slapping his palms against the hard grained wood, he used the piano to boost himself up and splay the bench to the floor. He rushed to the marble stairs and stomped his way up two at a time.

Please let mom be safe.

He clutched the massive brass door-knob and gave a sharp jerk.

There his father was.

He was slumped sideways on the bathroom door-frame. His face was close to the ground and his arms were ripping something up from the tile floor, something Rainier couldn't quite see.

He could see, though, the toppled armchair, the splay of tubes that once rested in his father's crippled body, and the long slender smear of blood that went beyond the hunched man in the door-frame. Sickening popping sounds echoed from the sterile bathroom and all too soon Rainier realized just what had happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

There had been rumors of these creatures. Ugly monsters that would feast on the devil's dish of human flesh. The proper term was _Infected Victim_, but the most common slang for it was _zombie_. Apparently when the United State's head nuclear power plant exploded from their ignorance of upkeep and protocol, a new nuclear altered virus strand began infecting the public. It was disastrous, and even though the U.S. held the press with a tight fist of laws, the story leaked throughout the world.

The only knowledge given publicly to the world was that a war was coming. The U.S. blamed France for their ever growing dependence and consumption rate of nuclear energy. France blamed the U.S. for their ever growing numbers of nuclear power plants and their lack of consistency.

And so the world was divided.

But the knowledge of the new virus strand lay ignored as the silent root of destruction.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Rainier's thoughts quickly flashed past his eyes in a hurried haste of realization.

His father had been the CEO of one of the larger power plants in this side of the country.

His father had fallen ill after an accident where one of the critical computers was broken and an explosion destroyed a good fourth of the plant.

He had known about the rumors in the United States.

Here his father was, devouring something ghastly on the bathroom floor.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"It was not your fault..."

Rainier stood horror struck in the center of the bedroom. His father slowly stood and turned to face his son.

Blood covered every inch of the man. What looked like some sort of meat-tissue clung to his hands like a horrible kind of cotton candy and his face was dripping with thick globs of intestine. The man looked like some sort of horror freak show that was on a late night movie.

This man was his father.

His father cried in agony, and with a rush, barreled into his son, knocking them both to the floor. Familiar thick fingers dug frantically into Rainier's chest but only grabbed fistfuls of white dress shirt. Angered, the man sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of Rainier's earlobe. Rainier didn't even have time to register that his father was on top of him. He only had time to ponder his father's last message. The frantic message he was not sure about but somehow knew-

"_But know in here._"

With a sickening crunch of cartilage, his father had successfully yanked the bottom portion of his ear clean off his face. Only with this sound, did Rainier realize just what was happening to him. He knew he was stronger than this man that had been shrunken by a crippling illness almost two months ago. This man he watched waste away under the jungle of tubes and wires. This man that was now going to kill him unless he did something.

With a cry of effort, Rainier was able to shove his father off to the side and stumble his way back to his feet. He clutched the bleeding mess that replaced his perfect ear and sprinted down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the foyer where he had started this horror story. With each solid step he took, an echoing step of frantic hunger followed in tow.

_Something ungodly was stocking right behind him_.

He slipped his now blood-slicked fingers into his pocket and pulled out a jumbled mess of keys.

It was so close, he could hear the grunts of the monster's running labor.

He started to cry because he had to pause enough to scramble the front door open.

_Slap, Slap, Slap! _His father's bare feet struck the hardwood floor.

A rush of hot air hit Rainier with a force he feared would shove him back into the arms of his stalker. He pushed against the current and almost fell down the front steps in his haste. He almost-

_The plug._

On himself because of his carelessness.

A inhuman growl filled his senses. He was crying uncontrollably now because he had to, yet again, stumble with a stubborn door, this time the door to his old sedan that he had driven up here. The door open, he hurled his body onto the worn driver's seat and slammed the door shut just in time to catch the monster's knuckles in the door's death grip. The zombie pounded his free hand on the window, smearing blood across the pollen covered glass. Rainier cried out in frustration, hot tears flowing freely down his face from the shear terror of it all.

He slipped his now sticky fingers around the door-handle and quickly opened the door enough to push the fingers out and to slam the door back shut before they could find their way back in.

He started the car and drove to the only other safe haven he knew in this part of the country.

To an old friend's house.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"He saved my life. Even Jay saw it! He helped me pull him out of the water and bring him here and you know he would only do that if he knew-"

"I do not _care_! That man is a spy, and I do not trust spies."

The second voice had a small French accent hiding in the background of his words, similar to the one he knew he had even though he had lived in New York City for five years of his life.

"Then why should we trust you."

Silence.

"Because I am in charge of this base."

More silence.

"Look, Anthony is telling zhe truth."

This time a slight German accent. He was sure it was German because it reminded him of the one his past girl friend had back in his crazy years in that same city.

"Even so, what do you want me to do with him? If I report him to central, he is dead. We cannot let him leave either because he will die on his own."

"But-"

"And we certainly cannot _deliver_ him to his team mates. No, so what do you suggest we do?"

Silence.

"I'll keep him."

Rainier laid soundlessly on a hard, uncomfortable bed. His muscles were painful and the familiar heated itch throbbed under his skin. How he just wanted to rid himself of this awfully thick blanket these idiots had wrapped him in. Didn't they understand he was going to _die_ from this internal inferno?

"You must be out of your mind!" the French voice roared with horror.

"Look man, give me a chance ! I _owe_ this man... or maybe you don't know anything about honor..."

Silence.

What was with all the unsaid words and palpable tension in the air? Why weren't they pulling this damned blanket off?

"Fine..."

Defeated.

"At least let me talk to 'im first."

"Don't touch his mask..."

Unspoken words.

A shuffling of feet and the hushed hiss of a door closing.

Next thing Rainier knew, a hand came down hard on his face. It seemed to connect his vision from the inky blackness of semi-consciousness to the real world. He saw what he knew he was supposed to dread, but understood little of the situation from the haze that still engulfed him mind.

Looming above him was the RED spy.

The man that his team had come to fear for the number of team mates he had claimed, and the man he knew was in charge of this small American military base off in the north of French occupied Netherlands.

Suddenly he heard words he never thought he would hear in an American base.

_French_ words.

"_You better listen, and listen well_," the spy slipped a glove-clad hand into the crevasse of his suit-opening and withdrew his butterfly knife with skill and ease. "_One fucking _toe_ out of line, and you are as good as dead, you hear me, boy_?"

Boy? This man did not look that much older than himself, though he might have been mistaken. Either that or he looked so helpless and small on this awful bed that the other spy was jumping to conclusions.

"_Yeah..._" he replied in slurred french.

Rainier was not sure he had even said anything until he saw the spy maneuver the butterfly knife back into it's closed position. With a firm nod, the other spy reached silently to his own neck-tie and began untying the tight knot. Rainier was not sure what he was supposed to be witnessing until he felt the fine silk cover his eyes.

Rainier's first thought was that it smelled of sweet cologne.

He heard the door hiss back open, and more shoes clacking against what he guessed was tile. He felt the presence of another person shuffling along his left side and soon heard the clank of metal against metal. The bed rose into the air and the presence shifted from his left around to the top of his head. The tiny squeak of flesh against metal as invisible hands gripped the railing. The louder squeal of wheels against the tile.

He was off to what he hoped was a good place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Elle lived in a comfortable house about an hour's drive from the estate.

On the way, Rainier turned the radio on to drown his thoughts about what he had just seen. The unknown announcer speaking in a monotonous circle helped until the voice suddenly grew in terror.

"_This just in, it has been confirmed that there was an Infected Individual spotted out-_"

He switched it off.

His ear had finally given it's last trickle of blood when he made it to the front of Elle's home. A mini-van lied silently in the front driveway, blocking any entrance from any foreigner. He decided to park parallel to the front of the house.

Slipping the gear into park, he sat quietly. His hands slipped into the familiar shirt pocket to come back empty. He had left his cigarettes on his nightstand back in...

Instead he slipped the keys out of the ignition and strode to the front door.

A soft knock, for it was almost two in the morning.

The faint thumping of feet down stairs.

_Slap, Slap, Slap! His father's bare feet struck the hardwood floor._

The door opened to a bleary eyed Elle. Clutched in her arms was her two year-old child, Lyle, who was babbling non-stop about how he wanted to play with Copain, their large golden retriever.

She gasped at the sight of him and quickly slammed the door back on his face. He heard thumping sounds frantically go back up the stairs. Thinking she was not going to answer again, he turned to go back to his car until he heard the faint thumping growing louder. The door was wrenched open and a thin hand grabbed his arm, effectively keeping him from moving. He turned to face her and noted she had put her son back upstairs, probably because of the blood soaking the left side of his once white dress shirt.

"I need your help."

"I can tell, Rainier."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Elle had taken his shirt and cleansed his ear with alcohol. His ear was still stinging from the thorough rinsing she had put it through when he heard the study's door creak open. She came with one of her husband's old shirts and a tight, pained look on her face. Stiffly, she sat down in her husbands work chair and tossed him the worn baby-blue shirt. He slipped it on easily for the thing must have been at least two sizes too big. He didn't like the feel of it, though, for he was a classy man who loved the allure of gentleman's suits and dress shirts. This would have to do.

"It was that zombie, wasn't it? The one that's all over the news."

Rainier had no choice but to tell her the whole story. He, of course, left out the parts of him crying for the safety of his last shred of pride. When his story was complete, Elle gave him the most gruesome of expressions he could have hoped for. Was she not supposed to coddle him about his horrific escapade?

"How long has it been since you were bitten?"

It dawned on him then. Was he to die? Of course, when a zombie share's any kind of fluid, in this case saliva, the prey would end up as the predator. Dead. Oh, God, why did he not think of this?

He began hyperventilating.

Was this where his end was? To survive through such a horrible death filled life only to die in his last safe haven?

"Relax, and tell me..." she said softly.

He wasn't stupid. He saw her hand shift under her shirt where he knew she kept her military issued hand gun.

"It has been about two hours. With the traffic," he took another shuddering breath to continue, "and the whole running for my life thing."

She stared silently at his now trembling frame. He could hear the fire from the study's fireplace crackle off in the distance.

"I'm sorry-"

"Well not as sorry as I am!" he hissed venomously, "Kill me."

This was asking a lot and he knew it. Elle may have been steeled from her own adventures in active military life, but her recent desk-job transfer was beginning to soften her back up.

Plus they had known each other for so long.

They had first met in school. Back in the day, back in _Lycée_ when things were so simple. He had opted out in taking the _B__accalauréat_ and instead went to The Juilliard School to get a Bachelor of Music in composition. Ella had taken the difficult test only to fail. Defeated, she opted for a military life where she quickly met her husband, Ivan, and started her own family when she was able to transfer out of the line of active duty.

They had always kept in touch, though. He attended her wedding and was there at the birth of her son, Lyle. He was there for her mother's funeral and he was even there when she just needed someone to confide in. How could she kill this man?

"I know that it takes, at the longest, twenty-four hours for someone to change."

He didn't ask how she had come across this knowledge.

"I will get you something to eat and let you take care of any personal business you need to take care of," she stood and crossed the room to the door, " I'll stay with you throughout the night in here with the door locked. If you change... I'll kill you."

Did he have a choice? He stood and joined her at the door. Extending an arm for an official hand shake, he was rejected. Instead she hugged him close and cried silently into the crook of his neck. They stayed like this for a good hour before they got back down to business. The crooked business of death.

* * *

Sorry if I messed up anything about the French school system structure and test.

_Lycée_ is secondary education from ages 15 - 18.

The _B__accalauréat _is similar to the Abitur, if anyone knows about it. Sort of like an extreme SAT or ACT test.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Rainier hadn't realized it, but he had fallen asleep under the dark shroud of the neck-tie and the sweet smell of it's cologne.

His dreams were empty, something that had begun after that night so long ago in a faraway country.

What woke him was the shivering of his own body. What he thought was an awful fire burning his body inside-out, was really the false impression hypothermia left on it's victims. He was really freezing to death. Not much better than being burned at the steak.

The thick blanket was still covering his trembling body but he knew this was not enough to settle his rattling bones. As if on cue, he felt another blanket engulf him.

"You dumb knuckle-head."

He didn't want to, but he knew he had to open his eyes. In this foreign place, his vision was a valuable asset. When he did, he saw a familiar face staring down at him.

It was that RED scout from earlier...

"You're up!" the scout's face lit up with excitement, "You're gonna be okay as long as ya stick by me, ya got it?"

The scout got a blank stare in return.

"Oh... I guess Beau was right. Ya only know French then, huh?"

What the hell was he talking about?

"I guess... I still can't believe ya saved me."

Oh yes, he almost forgot.

Almost.

He was on a field mission to gather the intelligence that his team knew was going to be shipped to the UK within the month. On this particular attempt of finally infiltrating the RED base, he had crossed paths with this hot-headed rookie; this _scout_. The other younger man had run blindly at him, his bat swinging wildly. What the rookie did not see, was that his team mate had his sniper set. If Rainier fought to stand his ground, the kid would have been shot. If he allowed himself to take the blow, he would be injured and have fallen into the icy waters that were notorious here at Well... but the kid would dodge the bullet.

He had chosen the icy waters.

He was not sure why though.

"Ya know, when ya fell in, I felt so excited! You were gonna be my first kill out here," the young man, probably barely out of his teens, beamed with pride," but then I spotted your sniper and understood the bullet hole just a few feet away from me..."

The _child_ sat down silently on the edge of Rainier's bed. His welcoming blue eyes met Rainier's icy ones.

"So I jumped in after ya... I was only in for a short amount of time, but you... I couldn't quite pull you up. I had our medic, Jay, help me pull ya up while Derek bugged your sniper. By the time you were fully out..." He shook his head, "but it doesn't matter now 'cause you're fine."

Was he really? If Rainier had learned anything from this ridiculous conversation, it was that both of them were crazy. Why would either of them save the other? Was this kid guilty for him saving his life? He was not sure about this. The kid either had a guilt complex or there was another reason...

Rainier was not sure he liked that thought.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Sitting up with the aide of two large pillows, Rainier was subjected to the worst kind of torture he could not quite believe was able to exist. It was so pain-filed and monotonous that he thought he would rather have just had the RED spy kill him back in the infirmary. This terrible torture was just that bad.

"Ya know, I used to live in Boston back in the day, but moved to NYC for my pop's work? Ya know NYC stands for New York City, right? Anyway, my parents are from Boston and their parent's parents are from there too. So ya gotta know the place was that great. I mean, the only thing I like more about NYC than Boston would be the number of giant skyscrapers there are. They always felt so welcoming, secluding, something ya don't find way out..." the scout waved his hands in a general direction, "here."

Shut the hell up!

It was so hard to not just reach up and strangle him to keep his fucking mouth shut. If only they hadn't handcuffed his right hand to the rails of his bed! Oh, they saved this little brat's life by putting on those damned handcuffs.

And he was not just about to let the kid know that he spoke English either. Oh no, that would be a mistake. Even though he had been hit by a baseball bat, almost died from hypothermia, and was subjected to this-

"Yeah, so I told my mum that I wanted to join the military. You cannot believe what her face did then! It turned the brightest shade of red. No joke, I swear!"

Torture.

He knew better than to show all his cards when the game had only started._  
_

"_Shut the fuck up, you stupid brat. I'm so sick of your fucking life story,_" Rainier said quietly, not wanting the scout to catch on that it was an insult, but still wanting to blow off some steam from a really disastrous day.

The scout tilted his head to the side and then his eyes lit up like a very important thought just crossed his mind.

"Ya gotta go to the bathroom, right?"

Way off in the French to English translation but embarrassingly true. He did need to go, but his muscles felt so weak and they had just got his tremors to subside. He did not know how the scout was planning on doing this.

"Jay gave me this awful bed-pan for you ta use, but I mean _damn_! How degrading!"

You bet your ass it was.

"So let me just help you to your feet..."

The scout slipped from the edge of Rainier's bed and melted from his vision to behind his head. A faint click and the guardrail fell with a metallic boom. The stupid kid forgot to uncuff Rainier's hand, so as soon as the rail folded under the bed, so did half of his arm. Embarrassed, the scout pulled a small key from his pocket and began to fumbled with the handcuffs below the side of the bed. Another click and his wrist was free. Standing back up, the scout maneuvered an arm very cautiously under the bend at Rainier's knees. His face dipped close to his own to the point where he could see the kid's strong blue eyes take on a tone of seriousness. Warm puffs of air escaped the scout's scowling mouth and caressed Rainier's bare neck.

And all too soon, it was gone for the scout had another epiphany on the matter.

"Look I don't want ta scare ya," he removed his arm from under Rainier's knees and pointed to the white-painted door to the left of the medium sized bedroom. "I'm just taking you to the _bathroom_."

He said 'bathroom' with a drawn-out intention to make Rainier aware of his new destination. But in reality, if he had not known English, who the hell would care if the word was drawn-out or so quickly spoken that it sounded like a squeak? Bathroom translated to bathroom. Damn stupid kid.

The gentle arm returned under his knees and soon he was sitting upright with his legs dangling hazardously on the edge of the bed. The floor looked like such a long way down, almost like he was standing on top of one of those tall New York City buildings.

For some reason this freighted him very much. Rainier frantically clutched his hands to the front and back of the scout's red shirt. Instead of feeling a shove of aggravation, he felt gentle hands rest on his own waist. The scout gave a reassuring smile before standing, and thus effectively pulling the spy to his own feet.

Damn, the room was spinning fast.

But the scout was patient. He made sure to take each step as slow as possible and allowed Rainier to put a great deal of his weight on his own body.

When Rainier finally made it inside the bathroom, he grasped onto the sink just as tightly as he had held onto the scout.

"I'll just leave ya to your business... If ya need me, holler."

Damn stupid kid.

The door shut softly behind him. Rainier stared gravely into the mirror just to make sure.

This gave him ample time to stare at his face as well. The familiar thick lines that formed under the dark half circles that outlined the bottoms of his eyes. His lips were still blue-tinted and his visible skin was as pale as paper.

Hell, why not?

He dug his cold fingers into the bottom hem of his mask, and ripped the fabric free from his head.

That was better.

The tired lines remained in their thick formation. His eyes still dull and blue with large dark circles underneath. Now he could see the thin red lines from the mask's stitching on the pale skin of his face. His dark-blonde hair was in one of the most disheveled look he had ever seen it in. Some parts were sticking straight up from the motion of removing the mask. Some parts were swiped behind his ears. Some parts almost completely in his eyes. He had no clue what the back looked like either. God knows how bad that part looked.

To put it simple, he looked like death warmed over.

He noticed he was also missing his suit jacket, his vest, and some other miscellaneous items like his shoes and socks. Damned thieves. At least he still had his blue pin-striped pants and white dress shirt. Though it was a small condolence to know he was still wearing some of his personal clothing for the pants were torn in the knees and the shirt looked like a wrinkled mess. Oh well, it matched his new hair style.

While gazing at the half-missing ear that barely held his hair back, the sight brought the inspiration to get down to business.

How to get out of here.

He thought about making a run for it. Who would expect a half numb, half frozen man to come running for an exit? He did not believe it either. What if he disguised himself as the scout? That would require shutting up the idiot long enough to steal his clothes and work his magic.

He slumped to the bathroom's tile floor.

He was just so _weak_.

He would have to wait on that one. Either that, or he could find a weapon...

With a new desperate vigor, Rainier hoisted himself back up with the aide of the sink and began frantically searching for anything, _anything_ he could use to kill with. He shuffled through the dirty laundry with his foot.

Nothing.

Maybe a roll of toilet paper might actually be his best bet in this entire damned bathroom...

He began to gaze again into the mirror, lost in thought. That's when he noticed the odd angles on the mirrors edge. He felt the angles with mild curiosity until he found that the mirror opened into a medicine cabinet. Inside, he found the best thing he could hope for.

A razor blade.

A knock on the door.

"Ya almost done in there? I'll give ya five more minutes..."

Rainier did his business quickly, tucked the razor blade deep within a front pants pocket, and slipped his mask back on just in time as the door creaked open.

"Good, you're done!"

A scent that he had not realized had become familiar filled his senses again as the scout gingerly helped him back to his bed. Finally lying down within the warm cocoon of blankets, he felt his eyelids begin to droop again.

"It must have been pretty tiring for ya, huh?" the scout noted, avoiding looking Rainier straight in the eyes.

Maybe it _was_ just guilt.

The kid, silent, raised the guard-rail back into position, and loosely snapped the handcuffs back on.

"Look, I... You take a nap. I'll come back with dinner when I know you're awake."

The scout slipped his hands into the folds of the blankets to tuck them neatly to the form of the spy's body. Once satisfied with his work, Rainier watched him tiptoe silently to the door that was right of the bathroom. It strangely reminded him of when he had stayed with Elle for the month after Lyle was born. She would do that same quiet motion when Lyle had finally fallen into a deep sleep. Rainier soon found himself doing that same motion too, when he opted to take care of the screaming child into the wee hours of the morning to give Elle and her husband a well deserved break.

Who did this scout think he was? He was not some new-born just finally getting to sleep. No, he was a full grown, twenty-four year-old man, and yet... it scared him to think that that was just how he felt. Like a new-born, completely dependent on another being. Oh God, he just wanted to cry, but that might make him even more of a sight.

During his racing thoughts, Rainier had not noticed that the scout was staring silently at him from the door-frame. It seemed as though he could read his mind.

"Don't worry. You'll soon get your strength back. When that time comes, you'll be back to bugging us on the BLU side in no time."

Unspoken words.

"In the mean time though, I'm _Anthony_."

There he was again, making his name drawn-out and long as he pointed to himself with his thumb.

There was a small moment of silence of the scout just blatantly staring at the spy.

"I'll call ya Bleu. Like B-L-E-U, not like the color blue."

How original. Did he know that bleu in French still meant blue? And where in all hell did he come up with that one?

"I mean, sense that's what Beau decided to call you."

Are you sure he did not mean _Blue_, as in his team color? As in, 'that is a dangerous _blue_ spy'?

"Anthony," the kid pointed to himself, "Bleu," His index finger shifted to point at Rainier.

This was going to be a long stay.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The scout had left Rainier, or now Bleu, alone to toil away in thought. Bleu knew he would probably have to kill the kid. It was an obvious first step of a trained spy, but could he actually kill him? He knew he had hesitated before, and if he were to hesitate again, he might not have such a lenient sentence bestowed upon him. Even if he could kill him, how would he fish the handcuff keys from the corpse's pocket? He would have to kill the kid when he leaned over his bed. Impossible. With such a small razor blade, his best bet in a successful kill would be to place a pillow over the scout's face while he was asleep and slice his common carotid artery or his wrists. Hold the pillow firmly down and watch the kid die in his own blood. Then he'd be soaked and have to disguise as him. Then he had no clue where he was going in this labyrinth of a base.

He had to wait.

Still watching the door, he felt the mattress of his bed with his free wrist. It was a single thin mattress, but underneath he could have sworn was a bottom layer of metal. Shaking fingers silently maneuvered the thin blade from his pocket to the side of the mattress. Sure he had felt the cold metal with his pinky-finger, he let the razor slip between his fingers into the crevasse underneath.

_Tink_.

Oh no. No, no, no, this was not supposed to be happening to him! There was metal underneath his mattress, but it was not solid. The delicate blade had just fallen to the tile floor below him. It was right under his bed, and here he was stuck with this stupid pair of handcuffs!

Desperate, Bleu shifted his focus to the handcuffs he knew the scout had put back on loosely in his distracted trance. The silver cuff sat thickly around the middle of his hand. If he could just pinch his thumb down enough to slip the metal off, he could avoid killing the scout all together and just deal with the aimlessly lost part of his escape plan. Steal the baseball bat that lay abandoned on the larger bed across from him, and take the kid's clothes. He knew he was weaker than normal, but to avoid such a rare opportunity was a decision between life and death.

The cuff easily slipped from his hand and swung lifelessly from the rail. With renewed energy, Bleu swept his feet from beneath the blankets and swung his weight from the bed. The fear of the immense height gone from his adrenaline rush, he slipped from the bed's edge only to collapse onto the floor. The noise alone from a man hitting tile might have anyone come barging into the room any second now. He had to hurry. Clawing up the side of the scout's bed, he flung himself over it's top. The familiar scent again filled his senses, but he ignored it and opted to pull back the sliding-door of the closet from his new seated position. A wardrobe of identical shirts and pants assaulted his eyes along with some really tacky shoes. Did this kid not know how to dress?

Wait...

He listened intently. Did he hear something outside the door? No, he must not have.

He returned to ripping a red long-sleeved shirt from a hanger and tearing his own shirt off. He slipped it on and focused on the next article of clothing. Wait, were these capris? They sure looked like brown capris to him, but with no other choice, he slipped his own pants off and slipped the brown 'capris' on. They really looked like cargo shorts on his tall lanky body, and the shirt he had put on barely reached the top of his pants. He then found some outrageously long, smelly socks lying next to a pair of foul smelling running shoes. The shoes were too big for some reason, and the smell was so bad that he silently gagged while putting them on. The last piece was the hat and half-mic set that lay abandoned on the scout's nightstand table.

He had to take his mask off.

Bleu sat quietly on the bed. He looked like a scout but felt like a mouse in a trap. Any second now, the trap would come down on his head and kill him.

_The plug._

With great resolve, he slipped his thumbs under the mask's hem and pulled the cloth from his face. His mind raced to his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles and lines. The tousled dark-blonde hair. The disfigured ear. He sure hoped that the hat would cover a lot of his head with it's rim.

He slipped the mask into the front pocket of his pants, and stuffed his clothes deep under the scout's bed. He then clutched the hat and mic and placed them hazardously on his head, opting to expand the hat to help cover his hair, and the top of his eyes. Good. He should be okay to go. The only problem was physically walking out of this enormous base filled with enemies.

Bleu took hold of the large, metal baseball bat and positioned it by his foot to use as a rough crutch. It worked, allowing him to stand and hobble to the door he had seen the scout leave through earlier. Now clutching the door-frame for support, he listened intently. There was no way he would risk walking into someone so early in this dangerous game. There were no sounds he could decipher outside of the door. He had always trusted his sharp hearing when the desperation of espionage called for it, but he still felt the tight knot of intuition in his gut. It was telling him he was being watched. Who had time to sit around and argue with themselves? Bleu turned the cool metal knob to reveal a thinly carpeted hallway. Many other doors, just like the one he was standing in, lined the hallway and continued onward to the connecting hall to his right. A bulletin board hung next to the door across from him. It had little sayings and motivational quotes. Even a poster of a cat hanging on a tree branch with the saying '_Just hang in there!_' was among the mess of papers and push-pins. Somehow he already knew who put that poster up there.

Unsteady fingers gripped the seamless wall for any support while the other hand clutched the baseball bat for a crooked crutch. He made slow progress to the left where the hall ended at a large frost covered window and a large set of push-doors to the window's left. His curiosity was much greater than his will to escape at that moment as he could not help himself but to wipe away a section of the window's frost with the hem of his long-sleeved top. He almost puked at the sight it brought him.

He had vaguely hoped they had not taken him to their main base. He had hoped to be brought to their field base that was across from his own team's field base. He had known deep down-

"_But know in here."_

That they had taken him to their main base for proper medical treatment and for recovery. And here he stood now, staring out from this third story window taking in the white canvas of snow with the delicate lines of railroad tracks disappearing off to the horizon. He was trapped with nothing but snow to keep him company outside of this prison.

He felt like giving up then.

Was it really worth it? Had he not given it a good shot only to die here? Was this his time and place to die? He was not sure. He was sure, though, that he did have someone waiting for him. Make that three people. Elle, Ivan, and Lyle were somewhere in this vast white landscape, just waiting for him to return home to live out his days as 'Uncle Rain'.

Another spark of determination igniting his frozen body, he again held fast to the bat and stumbled to the push-doors. He knew that the only way out of here would be the train system. If he stole a jeep, he would never make it in the snow and ice. He would die before he got to his own field base. The trains also had a better heating system and were the most reliable. His best bet would be to hide somewhere, _anywhere_, on that train until another field mission. That was another problem. Would there be a field mission in tomorrow's foretold snow storm? He was not sure he wanted to think that far a head yet.

The large doors did not swing open easily, but when he finally managed to pass their giant swinging boundaries, he found his next most horrendous obstacle.

Stairs. So many damned _stairs_.

One flight of stairs went upwards to doors he could tell led to the roof of the building. The thin slivers of wired glass on the doors were thick with frost. The flight of stairs to his right lead to another small platform like the one he was standing on, and another set of identical doors. If this was the third floor, that meant that those doors led to the second. Still not what he was looking for. To the left of the lower level doors, there had to be another flight of stairs to the garage section of their base. But then he was using his base as a vague reference...

He shifted his entire weight to the chilled metal railing on the stair's side. Each step was tedious and painful for his aching muscles, but he did what he had to. He made it to the second story platform and collapsed in a heap on the last step. He lied sprawled on the steps, allowing the throbbing to pulse it's way through his skin and leave his body in a calmer heat of sickness. Bleu did not even care if someone were to stumble through those doors and find this _scout_ lying awkwardly on the stairs. All he cared about was the calming of the ache.

He sat bolt upright.

Did he smell something sweet? Something... familiar? Was somebody watching him?

He wrenched his shoulders back to give his vision full access to the first platform he had just left.

Nothing.

He had to hurry.

Bleu hoisted himself back up with the help of the rail, and continued down the next flight of stairs. He felt himself begin to panic as the knot in his gut grew tighter with growing attentiveness. So close to those final doors, yet so far! If these damned stairs would just be easier to get down! Hell, an escalator would be greatly appreciated! But no, he had to stumble down the last three steps of those ungodly stairs and force his way through the doors and into-

Silence.

He was now in a vast parking garage. The ceilings were tall and made of cheap concrete. The kind of concrete that made even the slightest squeak of Bleu's shoes boom throughout the ground level. About twenty all-purpose jeeps lined one wall of the garage. Each silent and frozen from the lack of a working heating unit in the garage. He spotted a large section devoted only to crates of what he guessed was food and weapons. As he hobbled past them, he vaguely wondered if they had ever mixed machine gun rounds for popcorn. A cute thought, but the pain soon made his small smirk vanish. He had to find that damned train! As he made his way further into the garage, the taller the ceilings became until he heard a soft whistling sound. The sound that a fierce wind will make at a metal door. He quickened his pace as fast he could until he came across what he was looking for. Inside the garage, three train cars and an engine stood. The train looked old and tired sitting alone in the garage, yet it seemed ready to come to life, almost anticipating when the great metal doors would rise to give it access to the outside world.

And that's when he heard it.

The faint strums of a guitar coming from within the train.

Oh, God, why from _inside_ the train?

He was not sure what to do at this point. If he stayed out in the garage, he would freeze. He could not bunker down in one of the jeeps for the same reason. His only hope had been that damned train!

Without even thinking, he let out a loud strangled cry of frustration. How could this day get any worse?

"Who's out there?"

No, no, no. Please, do not come out of that train!

Bleu was frozen to the spot. Fear pumping through his veins like a deadly venom, he was forced to only watch in silence as a shadowy form crept from the train's gaping door and walked silently towards him.

"Now Anthony, you know not to bother me when I'm working!" the man laughed sheepishly as he strode closer to Bleu.

It was the team's engineer.

He raised his hand to his helmet-less head and scratched at it nervously.

"Say, Anthony... what's wrong? Is it about that spy we brought back?"

Bleu shook his head, making sure to keep his chin flush against his chest to keep his face from being noticed. He was hoping this guy would take a hint that he wanted to be _alone_ and that he should leave back to the upper floors.

"No?" Bleu shook his head again. "Well then... you should come sit with me. I always feel better when I play a little guitar. Maybe I could teach you a trick or two."

Before Bleu could even shake his head in protest, he felt a powerful arm wrap tightly around his shoulders and pull him towards the train. It was agonizing having to use all his strength to walk properly. As soon as he was sure he was going to pass out from the pain, he found himself sitting side-by-side with the engineer on the train's hard floor. A thin blanket was sprawled for some protection against the icy metal below him, but he could not help but give a small shiver. The engineer seemed perfectly comfortable in the cold midst of the train, and was all too eager to pick up a sheet of paper from one of the many others sprawled along the floor.

"This here is a guitar chord. A chord's like when you play multiple notes at the same time, and they all make a good solid sound," the engineer chuckled, "I'm not sure how else to explain it."

The man looked down at Bleu.

Bleu had dropped the bat to his side and was clutching his limbs to himself to hide the tremors that were beginning to build again. He continued to keep his hat tight to his head and his chin buried into his chest.

"You wouldn't happen to know a better way of explaining it, would you," he raised an eyebrow, "Spy?"

Bleu felt as though his heart was going to seize. How?

"You are that spy we brought in this morning, aren't you? I mean... unless Anthony can grow that tall in such a short amount of time."

He was caught.

"So, how would you explain a chord, Mr. Spy? And don't give me that only speaking French bullshit. Why would they send a man that can't speak English to a base dealing with American intelligence?"

Damn, he was good.

"A combination of three or more pitches sounded simultaneously."

The engineer was taken aback for a moment. He was not expecting him to answer in English, if not at all. A smile soon grew across his face, and he slapped a hand on Bleu's shoulder.

"See, I knew you could word it better than me!" another slap on his shoulder, "How about music? Ya know any?" This statement was followed by the engineer lifting his aged acoustic from his side and strumming a quick chord. Bleu looked up cautiously from the protective brim of his hat.

"I know quite a bit."

"Do you know how to read music? That's something I've been trying to get around to, but with all this fighting... Well, you know how time passes you by." The man set his guitar back down and replaced it with a pad of paper and a pen.

Bleu was not sure how he got into such an awkward predicament, but he was relieved to think about something familiar, even though it had given him a great amount of grief in the past. But he could not just randomly start a conversation with this man. He was the RED engineer. He was the _enemy_. He could not let him see his face. It was the only card he had left against them, and he greatly wanted to preserve this advantage, no matter how small it was.

Bleu was so deep in thought, he forgot he was blatantly staring at the engineer's face. The man looked to be in his early thirties. Rough stubble covered his masculine jaw line, and his short brown hair was pressed cleanly back against his head. He could not see past the thick goggles though. What color were his eyes?

The Engineer took this opportunity raise a calloused hand and give Bleu a small wave. Bleu paid no attention, still thinking about those impenetrable goggles. He silently shifted his hand and gently took hold of the rim of Blue's hat. It lifted away easily enough to reveal everything. His disheveled hair probably looked worse now, and his eyes should be glassy like how they always got when he was deep in concentration.

"You're just a kid. A tired kid."

This statement seemed to spark the life back in Bleu's eyes as he realized his cover was really blown. Relying on raw instinct and not conscious behavior, he roared with rage and lunged at the man. The engineer, startled, fell backwards under Bleu's momentum as Bleu clung to the man's throat with frozen hands. He was sure he was going to strangle this man to death until something made him stop.

The smell of sweet cologne.

Within an instant, the engineer swung Bleu's body backwards, and landed on top of him. He held his clutching hands above his head and kept his body pinned with one knee to the chest. Blue felt as though his lings was going to burst from the man's weight, but the other man did not seem to acknowledge this.

"You're too weak to take me on, kid. So don't even try it."

And with that the weight was gone and the man was back to sitting against the wall of the train. Blue was not sure he wanted to move.

He lay there _feeling_. He felt the cold metal below him begin to suck the warmth away from his limbs. The awkward absence of nothing covering his head. The skin of his hands against the floor's smooth surface. The all too big shoes being pushed up by his heels on the floor. He wriggled his toes in the large open space, just to make sure he was still alive.

"You don't look too good. You look pretty blue... not to mean that as a joke."

Did it look like he was laughing?

Bleu shifted a hand into the front pocket of the scout's brown shorts and withdrew his wrinkled mask. He silently slipped the material over his head until the hem fit snug with the top of his throat. The mask smelled of his old life. It brought back the memories which he violently pushed back. This was no time to be dwelling.

"What are you going to do with me?"

Silence.

"I'll make you a deal."

Bleu rolled onto his side and placed a hand under his chin. He stared at those emotionless goggles until a smile blossomed on the engineer's face and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes finally gave the goggles a since of mischievous amusement.

"You teach me about music."

Bleu watched as the creases grew deeper.

"And then this night never happened."

"'ow can I trust you?" Bleu asked cautiously.

"I'm a man of my word," the engineer put his hand over his heart as though he were offended, " and anyway, what room do you have to bargain?"

Good point.

Bleu held out a hand to the engineer.

"My name's Noah. Everyone calls me Big Tex though," the engineer laughed as he shook the hand held before him.

"They call me..."

He heard something shuffle outside of the train's door. Bleu jerked his shoulder's around to look, but whatever it was, it was gone. The only remnant of it's appearance was it's faint, sweet odor.

"Bleu."


End file.
